


My True Love Gave to Me...

by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee



Series: True Love or Something [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Just Add Kittens, Kittens, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9063535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee/pseuds/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: “What do you get people for Christmas?”He can practically hear Shiro face-palming on the other end of the line.  “You’re almost twenty-seven, Keith, you’ve given Christmas gifts before. How do I know this?  You’ve given me Christmas gifts before. One a year since you were old enough to think beyond ‘oh, free stuff’.”“But what do you give other people for Christmas?”“Is this code for ‘I don’t know what to give my boyfriend for Christmas’? Because if it is, I’m hanging up.”“Well you’ve just taken away all my incentives for telling the truth.”Shiro makes a noise halfway between a moan and a sigh “Oh my god.”  
Lance and Keith don't know what to get each other for Christmas and everyone thinks they're dumb.  Also there are kittens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOVELY REVIEWS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO EVERYONE WHO CELEBRATES THIS TIME OF YEAR
> 
> I haven't been updating the past few days because of holiday festivities with family and friends. Hopefully this bit of Christmas fluff can make up for my absence. 
> 
> This could technically count as a future-fic-ish? It takes places in Lance and Keith's second year of dating, their second Christmas together. Also, there is some implied Shay/Hunk and Shiro/Allura but they're pretty (very) minor in this fic so I didn't tag them.

Keith wakes up at 4am on December 7th and mutters “Oh shit.” Luckily, Lance sleeps like the dead so his sudden realization doesn’t wake up the other occupant of the bed, leaving Keith free to quietly freak out undisturbed.

            Crap, he really wants to be disturbed.

            So he falls back on a lifetime of conditioning and calls his brother.

            “Keith. What,” Shiro growls into the receiver and Keith would feel guilty if he wasn’t too busy panicking.

            “What do you get people for Christmas?”

            He can practically _hear_ Shiro face-palming on the other end of the line. “You’re almost twenty-seven, Keith, you’ve given Christmas gifts before. How do I know this? You’ve given _me_ Christmas gifts before. One a year since you were old enough to think beyond ‘oh, free stuff’.”

            “But what do you give _other_ people for Christmas?”

            “Is this code for ‘I don’t know what to give my boyfriend for Christmas’? Because if it is, I’m hanging up.”

            Keith snorts, “Well you’ve just taken away all my incentives for telling the truth.”

            Shiro makes a noise halfway between a moan and a sigh “ _Oh my god_.”

            Keith, who is pacing the living room, regretting forgetting to put on socks (the floor is _cold_ ), huffs in irritation, “Don’t be a jerk.”

            “Oh, I’m going to be a jerk. _You woke me up at four am for a fake crisis_!”

            “It’s not a fake crisis!” Keith whisper-yells into the phone.

            “Why didn’t you have this freak-out _last year_ ,” Shiro growls, “When it was _actually_ your first Christmas together? You know, the Christmas when normal couples figure out how to give/get gifts for/from their significant other without making it weird?”

            Keith sighs, “Last year was easy. The theatre was doing a Christmas show – ”

            “- So you were too work-obsessed to freak out over minor stuff?” Shiro finishes for him.

            “Shut up. No, I could just give free tickets to my friends. And yeah, I was too work-obsessed to freak out over Lance.”

            “What did you do last year?” Shiro asks with a very familiar Tone of Infinite Patience.

            “I drew him something,” Keith mutters, then proceeds to talk over Shiro’s obnoxiously loud _aww_ , “But I can’t do that this year!”       

            “Uh, why not? Homemade stuff is the best; you made it yourself so it’s a physical representation of how much you care and they can’t complain about it because you worked hard on it.”

            Keith glares at nothing; “You’re giving us all advance copies of your book this year, aren’t you?”

            “Yep,” Shiro says, unrepentant.

            “That’s cheating!”

            “Hey, stop it, _I worked hard on it_ ,” Shiro says in that annoying big-brother sing-song way and Keith does not smother himself with a pillow because that would solve none of his problems.

            “Cheater,” Keith hisses.

            “Hey, don’t mock my life’s work like that.”

            “Ugh. I hate you.”

            “Seriously, I’m still stuck on what the actual problem is other than you’re a neurotic mess.”

            Keith sighs, “You can’t do the same thing two years in a row, that’s lazy.”

            “So you’re not giving your friends free tickets this year?” Shiro asks, “Also, I did not get free tickets last year and I feel left out.”

            “I got you a really nice Christmas gift!” Keith protests. He actually got Shiro a sweatshirt with a tiny LED lights embedded in the Christmas tree stitched on the front that flashed in different patterns depending on the setting, a bunch of novelty Star Trek socks and a laser pointer that made space-battle noises. Needless to say, Shiro loved all of it. Keith remembers the time he used to think Shiro was cool with a sense of vague confusion these days.

            “Not free tickets~” and Shiro’s doing that aggravating sing-song thing again.

            “You suck.”

            “Uh-huh. So. No free tickets?”

            “Nah,” Keith shakes his hair out of his eyes, he needs a haircut, “No Christmas show this year, they didn’t want to have to compete with the Nutcracker.”

            “So that’s why you took the Nutcracker job.”

            “They needed an second Assistant Stage Manager and I’m over-qualified.”

            “And whipped.”

            “Shut up.”

            “You keep using that phrase, I don’t think it means what you think it means,” Shiro mangles a Princess Bride quote and is lucky he isn’t actually in the room for strangling purposes.

            “ _Shiro_ ,” Keith sighs, “Just help me. What do you get significant others and/or friends for Christmas?”

            “Stuff they like? Seriously, kiddo, I’m not sure how to help you here. Just ask them what they want if you’re not sure.”

            “But that’s weird.”

            “And your friends are so convinced you’re normal and sane?” Shiro asks flatly.

            “I don’t know why I ask you anything.”

            “Because you’re dramatic and need constant affirmation that you’re doing a good job?”

            “Ew, don’t psychoanalyze me.”

            Shiro huffs, tone sobering, “It’s a side effect of writing this damn book. I’ve had to unearth a lot of crap from the past I thought I was over or at least okay with. I mean, I’m fine, right? Everything has turned out great; I can’t really regret anything, can I? Or I’d be wishing the present different, right? I’ve got a good job, a good life – ”

            “ – One of these days you might have a real, actual conversation with Allura – ” Keith tries to interject some levity into a conversation he can feel careening towards the serious at an alarming pace.

            “She’s a doctor, she has no reason to want to go out with a nurse – ” Shiro tries that chuckling, self-effacing thing and Keith snorts in derision as his stomach growls – dammit, now he’s hungry. Might as well make breakfast, even if it’s four am.

            “Uh, dude, have you seen you? You’re ripped and have probably the most interesting life ever,” Keith says bluntly, “Plus you’re gonna be a best-selling author by next Christmas so I don’t know what the big deal is.”

            “She lives upstate.”

            “You’re planning on moving here soon anyway.”

            “She’s a doctor, I’m a – ”

            “War veteran? Former Canadian cage-wrestler? Black belt in three martial arts forms? Registered foster parent? World traveler? Basically my dad? Seriously, you love being a nurse; you went into nursing instead of doctoring for all the right reasons. You’re super, obnoxiously proud of being a kickass nurse and like, an awesome human. Stop being a wuss.”

            Dead silence and then, “Let the record show that Keith Kogane is an inspiring little bastard when he wants to be.”

            “Shut up.”

            “I’m actually tearing up right now.”

            “Please don’t.”

            “I’m so moved.”

            “Un-move. Be still, be very still.”

            Shiro sucks in a deep breath and Keith pauses in mixing pancake batter – wait, was Shiro actually… _moved…_ on an _emotional level_ by his dumb speech? What.

            “Keith, honestly, that was one of the best pep-talks I’ve ever received and I would hug you if you weren’t miles away.”

Fuck. Shiro was actually moved by his words. Keith’s not sure what to do with these feelings so he just keeps mixing the pancake batter. “Um. You’re welcome. You’re basically my inspiration and let’s stop talking about feelings because emotions are dumb.”

“Okay, moment gone.”

            “Thank god.”

            Silence as Keith pours pancake mix onto the skillet, the phone sandwiched between his shoulder and his ear.

            And then Shiro says that thing that Keith’s sure he’s been holding back ever since he picked up the phone – “Have you thought more about writing a forward for the book?”

            Keith sighs, “I don’t know, Shiro. I’m kind of good with everything in the past staying there, in the past. Where I and time and a court order put it.”

            “A will is not a court order, it’s just a binding legal document.”

            “You know what I mean,” Keith huffs, “I just don’t know if I want to dredge all that up. I’m fine with having permanently mixed feelings about the fucked-up way Mom raised me. I don’t need to pick it all apart the way you do.”

            “I know, and I don’t mean to push, I really don’t, I just would like a definite yes/no answer soon.” And Shiro sounds so understanding and so kind that Keith kind of feels like a jackass. But not enough like a jackass to do more than nod along.

            “Okay, you’ll have your answer by Christmas. Is that fine?”

            “That’s great, kiddo.” There’s something about Shiro’s voice, something automatically soothing. There’s a reason he’s a great Emergency Room nurse. He puts people immediately at ease. “And my answer to your gift question is simple – stop worrying about it. When you’re stressed about a problem you won’t find any solutions, just more stress. Patience yields focus.”

            “Thanks, Shiro. I’ll definitely use your Jedi-mind-trick words of wisdom in real life.”

            “Is there a button? A deactivate sarcasm button?” Shiro asks teasingly and Keith rolls his eyes.

            “Thanks, bro.”

            “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

            Keith hangs up and turns his attention to flipping his pancakes and putting the bacon in the skillet. A few minutes later he hears the shuffle of familiar feet and feels a very familiar warm body draping itself over his back.

            “Morning, babe,” Lance mumbles into Keith’s neck, “Why’re you awake?”

            “Had to talk to my brother. He’s all weird about the book.”

            “Mmhmm. Hey, bacon.”

            “My bacon.”

            “Share bacon?” Lance asks sleepily, wrapping his arms around Keith’s middle and burying his face in the juncture between Keith’s shoulder and neck.

            “Maaaaybe.”

            Lance makes an inarticulate whining noise and cuddles closer, if it’s even possible.

            “Yeah, you big baby, I’ll share the bacon.”

            “Love you.”

            “You love my limited cooking skills.”

            “Bacon.”

            “Yeah, I thought so.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lance wakes up at eleven pm on December 9th and mutters “Oh shit.” Luckily, Keith is still at work – Keith is an actual angel and offered to work the Nutcracker when one of their Assistant Stage Managers quit at the last minute – so Lance’s sudden realization doesn’t wake up the other occupant of the bed, leaving Lance free to quietly freak out undisturbed.

            Crap, he really wants to be disturbed.

            So he falls back on several years of conditioning and goes and bothers Hunk.

            “Hey, Hunk, I have a question.”

            “Uh, dude, I have lots of questions about this situation. One, you don’t live here anymore – why are you here? Two, more specifically, why are standing in the doorway to my room? Three, why am I covered in balled-up socks?”

            “Okay,” Lance explains, “One, I live next door and the dumbwaiter goes both ways. Two, I needed to talk to you, duh. And three, you didn’t wake up the first five times I tried to get your attention so I just threw socks at you until you did.”

            Hunk groans, “What did I do to deserve you as a friend?”

            “Something very good, I’m sure.”

            “You say that and yet…”

            “Hey,” Lance pouts, “This is a high honor. I am asking you, my very best of bestest friends, to help me with something.”

            “Okay so either A, you broke something – possibly yourself, although you’re not bleeding so maybe not? And you don’t want Keith to find out. Or B, you just now realized you don’t know what to get Keith for Christmas.” Hunk scans him with as sharp and critical an eye as one can have when one is wearing a ratty t-shirt and bright yellow flannel pants with little penguins on them.   “I’m gonna go with B since you’re not bleeding or making pain-sounds and screaming but you do have crazy-eyes.”

            “I do not have crazy eyes!” Lance protests.

            Hunk gives him a flat look, “Also, we went through the same exact thing last Christmas.”

            “Okay, Keith is actually impossible to shop for and Shiro is no help.”

            “We’ve been over this.”

            “The boy doesn’t want anything!” Lance wails, “When I ask him if he wants anything for Christmas OR his birthday he just kind of looks at me and goes ‘no…?’ with these big confused eyes like they’re not major gift-giving occasions or something. And THEN our anniversary is in January and I have to do this all over again.”

            “Okay, I’d like to point out that you met when you smashed his face into a mailbox, literally any anniversary gift is great after that.”

            Lance sighs, “I gave him lollipops and stickers in a twisted cutesy call-back to our fist meeting last anniversary and he actually liked that so there’s hope that I can finangle that into a tradition.”

            “Aww,” Hunk coos, “Lance thinks it’s permanent!”

            “Of course it’s permanent,” Lance snaps, “I’m going to marry that idiot some day.”

            Hunk’s eyes get huge and Lance regrets everything. “ _Really_? Oh my god, did you ask him? Are you planning on asking him? How are you going to ask him? Did he say yes and/or do you think he’ll say yes?”

            Lance can feel his face turning fire-engine red, “No, eventually, no idea, maybe, who the hell can tell, _HE’S KEITH THE MYSTERY MAN, ALIEN LANGUAGE WOULD BE EASIER TO READ THAN HIM!_ ”

            “Oh my god, you’re like a bunch of sorority girls,” Pidge gripes, trudging down the hall in ratty sweats and a tank top stained with what’s probably oil. She’s dragging a pillow and a handmade quilt (from Matt’s crafting phase, it’s ugly as sin and warm as hell, Lance would have stolen if he thought he’d get away with it). She pushes past Lance, into Hunk’s room. She looks over her shoulder at Lance, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if we’re doing this gossip-girl shit you’d better get us traveling pants or help me build a pillow fort in here.”

            “Pick the pillow fort,” Hunk advises, already stripping the pillows and blankets off his bed, “I don’t think you could find a pair of pants that’d fit all of us.”

            Lance helps with the pillow fort. There’s no way in hell he’s gonna find a pair of pants that’ll be long enough for his legs and short enough for Pidge’s.

…

            “So Lance doesn’t know what to get Keith for Christmas, what else is new?” Pidge says, sucking on her go-gurt because they are actual children who buy yogurt in slurp-ready packages.

            “Hey, don’t trivialize my struggle,” Lance huffs around his own yogurt tube.

            Pidge rolls her eyes. “You get so weird about getting Keith stuff. You’re like a gift-giving wizard. You’ve bought Hunk and I’s love several times over with the cool shit you get for us. Without prompting. I’m pretty sure you’re psychic or something.”

            “And you’ve done the Christmas/birthday thing with Keith before,” Hunk points out.

            “Yeah, you survived last year.”

            “I panicked and bought him a bunch of black t-shirts with Shakespeare jokes on them.”

            “Yeah?” Pidge asks, “He’s a giant nerd who wears nothing but black t-shirts. You did good, son.”

            “I’m two years older than you,” Lance says, arching an eyebrow.

            “And yet…” Pidge sighs.

            “I’m with Pidge,” Hunk admits, “You’re really good at this, what’s your hang-up with Keith? Also, I still have lots of questions about a wedding that may or may not exist.”

            Lance sighs and picks at the now-empty yogurt sleeve. “I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s had so many shitty Christmases I just want to make him happy like, all the time.”

            “Aww,” Hunk says while Pidge rolls her eyes and mutters “Feelings.”

            “And with his birthday less than a week before Christmas, the pressure’s on. I have to make sure they’re obviously separate things – having your birthday lumped in with a nearby holiday is awkward as fuck – but equally special and unique.”

            “You have definitely over-thought this,” Pidge says flatly, rolling her empty yogurt sleeve up and tossing it in the trashcan while Hunk rips open a bag of potato chips. “Me? I overthink everything. I know overthinking. I overthink peanuts.”

            “Yeah you do,” Hunk mutters around a handful of chips.

            “I have very specific peanut-related opinions, okay?” Pidge huffs.

            “Hey, Pidge, want a peanut?” Lance offers because he’s actually terrible.

            “Oh my god,” Pidge moans, “We’ve been over this!”

            Lance cackles and Hunk accepts his offered trail mix happily.

            “So what should I get Keith?” Lance is definitely stuck on this question.

            “Let’s table that and get back to the hypothetical wedding,” Pidge wrestles the chips away from Hunk and settles in with an unholy gleam in her eye, “What’s up with that?”

            Lance buries his face in his hands and groans, “You know what, I’m never telling you guys anything ever again.”

            “Less bitching and moaning, more facts,” Pidge insists, crunching on the chips with gusto.

            Lance sighs, “Fine, okay. I want to marry Keith someday. Kind of a lot. But no, we haven’t talked about it and I don’t want to freak him out because – ”

            “- you’re dating someone almost as nutty as us,” Pidge elaborates for him.

            Lance glares at her and steals a fistful of chips, “Yeah, pretty much,” he mutters into his stolen chips while Pidge looks on, smugly amused.

            “You’re both pretty committed,” Hunk hedges, “I really don’t see how this would be a big deal.”

            “It’s kind of a ‘someday’ sort of thing,” Lance tries to explain, “There’s no real urgency; we’re happy now.”

            “Buuuut you want to maaaarry him,” Hunk teases.

            “Yeah, pretty much. Someday,” Lance insists, “ _someday_ I want to marry him. FYI, we’re totally eloping and apologizing to my moms later.”

            “Just as long as we’re invited,” Hunk says.

            “Sweet, trip to Vegas ahead!” Pidge pumps her fist in the air.

            “You do realize most people don’t actually elope in Vegas. Vegas does not have a monopoly on spur-of-the-moment marriage,” Lance says flatly.

            Pidge rolls her eyes, “Yeah, but this way I can make a killing at the casinos and you can get married by some dude in an Elvis costume. Shiro’s down for it. We’ve got it all planned out.”

            “You what?”

            “Yeah, last Fourth of July Shiro and I got really drunk and planned your crazy Vegas wedding, hope you don’t mind.”

            Lance shakes his head because he’d pretty sure his brain can’t process this. “I hope you’re kidding.”

            Pidge shrugs, “I have the napkin we scribbled it all on but it got kind of torn up from our pencils.”

            “You’re insane.”

            “Insanely _awesome_.”

            “Are you two going to help me figure out what to do for Keith’s gifts or not?” Lance huffs around more chips.

            “Just do a little party for his birthday,” Hunk advises, “like you did last year. Something quiet with just friends and you and Shiro. Make dinner and maybe do a small gift.”

            “Sex is always an option,” Pidge says bluntly, “I hear people like sex as gifts.”

            “Oh my _god_ , Pidge.”

            She shrugs, “Someone had to say it.”

            “Literally no one had to say it, stop it with the talking.” Lance is pretty sure he’s going to spontaneously combust right now and it’s not going to be pretty.

           Pidge shrugs again and lets Hunk take over.

            “And Christmas…you’re on your own there, buddy. You know Keith better than we do and, frankly, we’re already trying to figure out what to get him ourselves. But I liked your stickers and lollipops idea for your anniversary. Maybe make them into a bouquet or something. Add some bandaids.”

            “He got me novelty bandaids last year,” Lance admits; he can feel himself turning pink again.

            “That is sickeningly cute,” Pidge mutters.

            “So we’re all stuck on what to get Keith, yeah?” Lance says, and claps his hands together, “pillow fort brainstorming session, anyone?”

            “Hell yeah,” Pidge grins and fist-bumps Hunk.

…

            Lance trudges home exhausted at two am to find Keith half-asleep in their bed. His boyfriend cracks open an eye and glares at him when Lance tries to sneak in. “Where were you?” he slurs tiredly as Lance slides into bed next to him, “Why d’you smell like chips?”

            “Went over to Pidge and Hunk’s to brainstorm Christmas gifts.”

            “Explains the chip-smell.”

            “We made a pillow fort,” Lance explains, letting sleepy Keith (one of his personal favorite Keiths) tangle their limbs together, “And ate gogurt and chips. And Pidge was weird about peanuts.”

            “Sounds normal.”

            “Oh yeah, totally.”

            They lie still and breathe together for a few moments. Then Lance sighs, “I love you kind of a lot, babe.”

            “Mmmhmm, love you too,” Keith mutters into his shoulder.

            This is nice. They don’t really need much more than this. Maybe this spring they can talk about Pidge and Shiro’s drunken wedding planning. He hears Vegas is nice in the spring.


	3. Chapter 3

“I should totally get credit for the kittens,” Lance says, on December 19th, as they cart the box containing one mama cat and four balls of fluff back to the house after an enlightening visit to the vet.

            “Uh, no, I found them,” Keith protests as he holds the front door open for Lance and feline company.

            “Yeah, but I convinced you to keep them.”

            “They’re adorable kittens, I found them abandoned on the loading dock at the performing arts center. It’s not like it was a tough sell.”

            “Still,” Lance argues at they make their way into the kitchen, “You were all ‘we’re just going to get them out of the snow, Lance’, ‘we’ll leave then at the vet, Lance’, ‘someone else will definitely adopt them _all_ , Lance’, ‘they’ll go to great homes, Lance’, ‘don’t get attached, Lance’.”

            “And look what happened,” Keith says dryly, “You got attached.”

            “Because they’re freaking adorable,” Lance rolls his eyes, “Duh.”

            Keith sighs, “We can’t keep all of them, you know that, right?”

            Lance pouts briefly but then shrugs, “Yeah, I know. But the vet said we have to keep the babies with their mama cat for a few more weeks anyway, so we’ll wait until then to adopt them out.” His face must be doing something because Keith’s expressive eyes narrow.

            “You’re adopting them out to Pidge and Hunk, aren’t you?”

            “Don’t you think the big gold tabby kitten would be perfect for Hunk?! Gentle giants flock together and stuff.”

            “You’re mixing idioms.”

            “And the little gray and white one with the green eyes can go to Pidge – ”

            “You have this all planned out, don’t you?”

            “And the reddish tabby and the gray tabby with the blue eyes can stay with us – ”

            “You really do have this planned out.”

            “And I’m pretty sure Shiro or Allura will want the mama cat.”

            They both look at the big black and white cat as she gently corrals her litter of kittens into some kind of order. Their father must have been a tabby because while their mother’s fur is a multi-color hodgepodge dominated by black and white, the kittens are mostly of the striped variety.

            “Maybe they’ll agree to time-share Mama Cat,” Keith offers.

            “Or we cleverly use the existence of Mama Cat to get them to finally date already. We could parent-trap them with an actual parent,” Lance says with a gleam in his eye that bodes no good for anyone.

            “No.”

            “Oh come on, I’m already going to leverage the fact that Hunk has a kitten for all it’s worth with Shay.”

            Keith frowns at him, “You ever think that you’re maybe a smidgeon too invested in our friends’ love lives?”

            “Nope,” Lance blithely disagrees, “I’m just the right amount of invested. Hunk needs to date Shay. She’s great; he’s great. They’re actually perfect for each other. This will help fix the problem that is them not dating.”

            Keith sighs but doesn’t argue. He’s learning. “But what about Matt?”

            “What about Matt?”

            “He’s going to be sad he didn’t get a kitten.”

            Lance yelps in overblown protest, “He can’t have one of my babies! He can’t be trusted with himself, much less a living thing!”

            Keith stares at him a moment and Lance can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes before he finally says, “Okay, we can ask Pidge to make him a robot cat so he doesn’t feel left out.”

            “That we can do.”

…

            Their friends are, of course, delighted with their future pets. “I’m going to name mine Daisy,” Hunk coos as the delicate flower in question bops one of her smaller siblings on the head and a knocks a second over on accident.

            “Yeah, because she’s so dainty and floral,” Pidge mutters, teasing her future kitten with a finger, “Mine’s gonna be Rover II. But I’ll call him Junior so his big brother doesn’t get confused or jealous.”

            “Your robot can get jealous?” Keith asks with some trepidation.

            Pidge raises an eyebrow, “I don’t want to find out, do you?”

            Keith decides to drop it. He can’t really make fun of their choices, he’s still calling his kitten ‘Red’ in his head, although he’s pretty sure it’s taking all of Lance’s willpower not to start calling her ‘Rose’ without Keith’s permission. (Lance’s kitten was named within the first day – Lazuli or ‘Laz’ seems to like her name or at least hasn’t protested being named after a semi-precious stone).

            He leaves his friends to their kittens and ponders what it would take to get Shiro and Allura in a bidding war over Mama Cat.

…

            (Matt adores the robot kitten Pidge builds for him – he names her Violet and she follows him around on robot legs and confuses the hell out of her flesh and blood counterparts).

…

            On Christmas Day, after everyone has dispersed to various parts of the house to play with their new gifts Keith walks up to Shiro and drops a legal envelope in his lap. “Don’t say I never gave you anything,” Keith mutters at his brother as Shiro opens it.

            “Oh my god, Keith,” Shiro murmurs as he begins to page through the chapter Keith wrote for his book.

            “Don’t let your editor change too much of it, okay?”

            “I won’t change a thing.” There are actual tears in Shiro’s eyes.

            “Stop that, you haven’t even read it. It could be garbage.”

            And then Shiro’s standing up off the couch and hugging the holy hell out of him and Keith’s just trying to breathe. “It isn’t garbage,” Shiro says, “I can tell.”

            “Quit believing in me,” Keith grumps half-heartedly, “You’re making it hard to be cynical.”

            “Just shut up and enjoy the moment.”

…

            The dedication page of Shiro’s book reads: ‘To my mother; a free spirit and a free thinker. And to my brother; one of the best things that has ever happened to me.”

            Keith will deny it until the day he dies that he cried when he read it, but Lance knows the truth.

…

            The day they bring the kittens home Lance looks at Keith over the box and says, “This can count as our big-gesture Christmas gifts to each other, right? Please say yes.”

            “Thank god,” Keith visibly deflates, “Christmas is fucking stressful. Please let the cats be our big-gesture gifts.”

            “Have I mentioned I love you?”

            “Many times.”

            “I do.”

            “Cool.”

            Lance glares at him.

            Keith rolls his eyes, “I love you too; it should be obvious. I let you convince me to bring home five cats, I’m either brain-damaged or in love.”

            Lance stares at him thoughtfully, “What do you think about Vegas in the spring?”

            “Summer or nothing and I’m not getting married by Elvis no matter how drunk we are.”

            “Sweet.”

           

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from 'Twelve Days of Christmas'


End file.
